Salvatore, Mischa

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22 , Junior , Stripper/Bartender .[/color][/center]

WHAT ARE YOUR NICKNAMES?:

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[/ul]WHAT IS ON YOUR BED RIGHT NOW?:

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[/ul]WHAT WERE YOU DOING BEFORE THIS?:

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[/ul]WHO'S THE LAST PERSON YOU CALLED?:

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[/ul]TEXT MESSAGED?:

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[/ul]TALKED TO FACE TO FACE?:

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[/ul]LAUGHED WITH?:

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[/ul]CRIED WITH?:

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[/ul]NAME THREE PEOPLE WHO MADE YOU SMILE TODAY:

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[/ul]WHAT WAS THE HIGHLIGHT OF YOUR WEEK?:

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[/ul]WHAT DID YOU ARGUE ABOUT LAST?:

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[/ul]DO YOU HAVE ANY TATTOO'S?:

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[/ul]DO YOU KEEP YOUR ROOM CLEAN?:

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[/ul]WHERE WERE YOU BORN?:

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[/ul]IF YOU COULD CHOOSE, WHERE WOULD YOU DIE?:

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[/ul]WHAT'S YOUR FAVOURITE MEMORY?:

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[/ul]WHAT'S YOUR WORST MEMORY?:

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[/ul]MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT?:

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[/ul]WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST PET?:

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[/ul]WHO IN YOUR FAMILY DO YOU LIKE?:

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[/ul]WHO IN YOUR FAMILY DO YOU HATE?:

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[/ul]SO, HOW'RE WE SWINGING THESE DAYS?:

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[/ul]DATING ANYONE?:

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[/ul]ARE YOU A VIRGIN?:

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[/ul]WHAT'S YOUR MAJOR?: (change to job if your a local)

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[/ul]DO YOU LIKE IT?:

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[/ul]WHAT DO YOU ASPIRE TO?:

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[/ul]WHAT'S SOME STUFF YOU'RE REALLY GOOD AT?:

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[/ul]WHAT'S SOME STUFF YOU'RE REALLY BAD AT?:

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[/ul]WHATS THE BEST THING YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF?:

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[/ul]WHATS THE WORST THING YOU HATE ABOUT YOURSELF?:

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[/ul]WHATS YOUR FAVOURITE WORD OR PHRASE?:

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[/ul]ARE YOU TRULY HAPPY OR JUST OKAY?:

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[/ul]BOOK SMART OR STREET SMART?:

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[/ul]AN INTROVERT OR EXTROVERT?:

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[/ul]A LEADER OR A FOLLOWER?:

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[/ul]GIVER OR TAKER?:

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[/ul]OUTGOING OR SHY?:

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[/ul]PHONE TALKER OR TEXTER?:

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[/ul]TALL OR SHORT?:

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[/ul]DAY OR NIGHT PERSON?:

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[/ul]RESPONSIBLE OR CAREFREE?:

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[/ul]LOUD OR QUIET?:

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[/ul]WHATS YOUR FAVOURITE TV SHOW?:

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[/ul]MOVIE?:

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[/ul]ACTRESS/ACTOR?:

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[/ul]BAND/ARTIST/MUSICIAN?:

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[/ul]CD THAT YOU OWN?:

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[/ul]LESSON AT SCHOOL?:

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[/ul]CLOTHES SHOP?:

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[/ul]SPORT?:

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[/ul]TYPE OF CLOTHING?:

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[/ul]DRINK?:

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[/ul]FOOD?:

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me? well my name is Kate and i've been kicking it for
Seventeen years and i've been roleplaying for 10 of those years.
just in case you didn't know i'm a girl i also play here aswell.
if you want to contact me hit me up over PM for my msn and this is how i roll:
California was hardly bearable. What was there to do? Sure, the clubs were entertaining for a while, but the sheer lack of excitement that surrounded them after attending one after another well-near daily was astounding. Same semi-decent staff, same chart-topping music blasting from the same old sound systems with limited twists and turns in the rhythm, same ultra American way of doing things - even the partygoers started looking the same after downing enough appletini's and considering them carefully. Clubbing was hardly exciting anymore. Being one of the premier experts on the Hollywood clubbing scene, Nicole's opinion counted for a lot on this matter. Other people may have found the curious atmosphere of L.A.'s party hotspots a welcome sight, but for people like Nicole? Ugh, how boring. She needed the thrill of new scenery, not only nightclub-wise, but in every other sense of the phrase. A new setting, a new place to explore, new opportunities for adventure left and right. She smirked at the thought of it - Nicole was a sucker for adventure. Such a nature often guaranteed her a lot of trouble, but on the plus side, things were never boring with her around, right? She liked to think so, anyway. She needed to do something about that urgently. Who better to cause a little havoc with than the queen bee troublemaker herself, Tara Reid? Nobody, that's who. Boredom always called for measures like these to be taken.

This boredom didn't just cling to Nicole, it seemed to have swallowed up all of Los Angeles. The tabloids were all dried up like prunes; once juicy, now the kind of thing only severely misguided people would sink their teeth into. She couldn't imagine how largely the salaries of the paparazzi were cut - it did seem like there were less of them roaming the streets, knowing there wasn't much to catch - now that nothing was happening. But, still, the fact remained: nothing was happening. No break-ups to gush about, no feuds broiling between celebs, no bickering couples in the process of a quickie divorce... not even a damn pregnancy rumour! While she tried to stay away from the tabloids that once included her face in every tidbit of gossip, she couldn't help but delve into them every once in a while, only to be disappointed. Speculation made life interesting. The drought of intrigue was enough to have Nicole almost plotting to start something up herself. Lose some weight, maybe? She was almost certain Page Six would eat it up, but as delicious of a rumour as that was, she wasn't going to lose any more weight. Oh, god, no. She was a beanpole already and had only just rid herself of the malnutrition rumours or whatever the fuck she was supposed to be. Anorexic? Bulimic? She was at one point, she had to admit, but it had to be taken with a grain of salt; she was also hypoglycaemic. Internally, she brainstormed a list of things she could do to liven things up, then quickly picked apart their flaws: adopting an Ethiopian orphan would certainly be a buzz magnet, but it would require actually caring for a child for years and years and years to come - besides, it was so Angelina and Madonna of her to do so; while she could casually start the rumour that she relapsed and went back to cocaine, most people thought she never got over her drug problem in the first place, so it consequentially wouldn't cause more than a dirty look in her direction; rehab was overdone and overused, as was prison (but prison, after her quick stay in a jail cell, was definitely not an option); pregnancy rumours were too much of a hassle... Nicole could really only think of one sure-fire plan that would get everyone all riled up. Make out with all the scrumptiously hot guys in town? But of course! She couldn't help but smile as she thought of an even juicier variation to the previous statement: make out with all the scrumptiously hot girls in town? Nothing fuelled a gossip columnist like a sexuality debate!

It wouldn't be beneficial to her career, of course, to embark on fulfilling any of her thoughts. Not that she had much of a career. What was she famous for again? Oh, yeah, starring on a scripted reality television show as the sidekick of the platinum blonde princess with an everlasting notoriety. Straight out of rehab, she was dumped onto the set of a farm, told to act ditzy and stupid, plucked a few chickens and suddenly found herself being fondled by cameramen sticking out of every corner. Mmm... instant fame! That was right after she got out of rehab, mind you, and she'd gained a good percentage of weight while there, and as soon as she started shedding it to get back to her regular figure, she was accused of the aforementioned eating disorders. Um, but wasn't sick in actuality? She ate like a pig. Everybody knew it. No matter how many pictures of her stuffing her face with hot dog after hot dog popped up on the internet, there were more of her looking - ahem, ahem - "skeletally thin". Through a quick examination, she had to admit she was a teensy bit underweight, she wasn't freakily so. She looked alright. Better than she did back when she was overweight, she thought, as her body was a naturally skinny one and looked unusual with any extra weight in the first place. While rumours ran rampant, she stuck to herself, surprised that she was till well-known after all this time. How did she retain her fifteen minutes and stretch it out for hours? Well, however she did it, it was her friends which made the wait bearable. Friends like, say, Lindsay and Tara? Yeah yeah yeah.

Lindsay was great, she really was. Nicole was more than pumped to have heard that over a simple phonecall, Lindsay agreed to move in to her house and bring along her kennel of puppies. Whether or not they would get along well with Nic's was an issue of it's own, seeing as Foxxy Cleopatra, Honeychild, Che-Che-Cheetah and the rest of her many pets (she very liberally named her pets with spur-of-the-moment ideas) were a little stuck up and, quite bluntly, were total attention whores, but she figured they'd get used to one another. She would rely on her redheaded - well, she was blonde now - counterpart to break up any resulting battles between the animals, if they occurred. She knew Honeychild would likely leave everyone alone and Foxxy would be somewhat kind, but Cheetah? Jesus Christ, that Cheetah was a maniac! Were exotic cats bred to be so jumpy and confrontational? It was probably a side effect of the bloodline that the breeders struggled so fervently to maintain. That struggle did not come cheap - Cheetah had cost a small fortune, after all. Not that Nicole actually noticed. Money had never been an issue and it never would be. Her cash was supplied by her own "career", if you can call it that, her father's large sum of money, her rich cousins and nephews and uncles, and if worst came to worst, her godfather. Michael Jackson used to be amazing back in the day - you know, back when all the girls would swoon over his moonwalk and pin up his posters obsessively? But Nicole could hardly remember that Michael. Now he was a total freak. Ew. Asking him for money would be like selling herself to the sex trade, she feared, and while his music was still kickass, he was... not. Ew again. Not at all.

Now, let's not forget the latter of the terrible twosome who formed Nicole's closest entourage - Tara was a gem. While the media may not have appreciated her, Nicole did. Hell, the media didn't appreciate Nicole, either. Gossip was ruthless to them both and they both tackled it as best they could without putting their entire personal lives on the line. As far as Nicole would go for fame and a good reputation (she hadn't been acting on it lately, but given the chance, she would commit herself like none other), she was loyal to her friends first. Was there an expression for that? Probably not. She took a moment, furrowing her brows in concentration, and came up with a suitable one: Dames before fame. She could imagine Tara as a dame, all dressed up in a flowy blue dress decorated with flowers and sequins with her hair wrapped up in a bonnet. Tara would make a great dame. What an idea for a screenplay! Really, with the intricate ideas Nicole had for career moves, it was a wonder she wasn't as huge as Oprah yet. Tara starring as the damsel in distress, she mused, throwing together a few lines in her head and envisioning the soundtrack already. The opening scene would feature "Mary" by the Scissor Sisters and open up to a shot of Tara's gorgeous blue eyes, staring straight into the camera with a lovely passion. Tara was a great actress, she could definitely pull off anything that was handed to her, even if she was about as much of a damsel in distress as a toughass jail guard was. Tara was a force to watch out for, not a little girl with a pretty dress who needed saving... although she did have a fair few of said pretty dresses! Most of which Nicole had stolen. Most of those which she hadn't returned. Oops?

Luckily, she managed to remind herself of the fact that she owed her friend the many clothes she had borrowed and jam-packed them into her third suitcase. Yes, her third oversized suitcase. She had realized that morning while telling her personal assistant to book a lovely flight for the two to Paris, France that she had no idea about the details of their stay. All she knew for certain was that the two blonde belles wanted to have a lovely vacation in the most amazing city on the planet and that they wanted to have a hell of a good time. Her personal assistant, on the other hand, gave a huge sigh and began ruining that happy-go-lucky plan with a series of fun-killing questions. "So, how long will you be gone for?" Who knows? A week? A month? Forever? She decided to pack a few extra outfits just in case it turned out to be the last one, but her credit cards were always available in case a haute couture dress struck her fancy. "Where are you going to stay?" Um, some random hotel they found that looked halfway decent? Maybe a cheap, dirty, smelly place in the middle of the city where they could breathe in the true smells of Paris and appreciate the unbelievable beauty of the city and roll around on the dirt floor, being totally unlike the ladies they were taught to be. How hard was it to find a fucking hotel anyway? Especially when the two were Nicole fucking Richie and Tara fucking Reid (excuse my French). They were more than capable of finding a place to stay. "Who are you going to take with you? Would you like a bodyguard, an assistant, a stylist, anything?" Nuh-uh. It was just the two of them. They didn't need any forty-year-old uptight pricks telling them where to go and where not to go. Even if Nicole stumbled into a bodyguard-worthy situation, she knew Tara was more than capable of saving her. Again, Tara was not a damsel in distress type of person. That was more the very melodramatic Nicole Richie's thing. More questions rolled along, but Nicole found herself zoning out. SHE JUST WANTED TO GO TO PARIS. SHE DIDN'T CARE ABOUT THE DETAILS. GIVE HER PARIS NOW! She ended up just saying very boredly, "Whatever you want. The flight leaves at nine. Adios, chica." She called her personal assistant 'chica' even though he was male just to annoy him. After all, she was his employer who paid him coveted amounts of cash - she could do that. In return, he sometimes called her 'sir', but she was a little less gracious towards that. She was willing to let her sexuality be questioned, sure, but NOT her gender. She was a freaking girl!

After that, two suitcases were aligned in a row (the third came much later) and she threw in absolutely everything. The tee shirt from Bebe that she adored to no end, her favorite capris that made her legs look quite muscular, the glittery shorts that didn't go with anything but were so irresistably girly that she just had to have them - you name it, it was in her suitcase. She even packed a small lamp. Well, what if they chose that dirty hotel she was thinking about moments prior? It would probably have shitty lighting. They needed a lamp. Maybe this was poor planning, but at least she was prepared, right? A little too prepared, to be perfectly honest. She had way too much stuff. Whatever. She had an entire suitcase full of Tara's clothes, so that would be handed off right away, and the rest of it (save for maybe the lamp) was totally necessary for a nice trip out. She donned a cute black Gucci dress, that plain kind that was used to emphasize other parts of the outfit, and it seemed to bring out the stripey texture of her purple and violet knee-socks, as well as the purple rims of her oversized Aviator glasses. Well, duh. Did Nicole ever go anywhere without her sunglasses? To add on to the outfit, she slipped on a pair of chunky yellow pumps. Perfection! Her golden tresses were swept up into a high and messy ponytail, random strands poking out here and there. Nicole was definitely ready to go. Her suitcases dragged down the steps by the limo driver, Nicole paused long enough just to write a note to Lindsay about how she was leaving but would be back, and signed it with a whole ton of "xoxoxoxoxo"s then followed the driver excitedly into the long black vehicle, fighting back a loud squeal.
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this was made by elvis ain't dead ! over on caution 2.0
don't remove this credit, or steal or claim as you're own because
lillie has a torture chamber and she knows how to use it![/center]